


(Maybe You're Gonna Be) The One That Saves Me

by lunasenzanotte



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Historical, Dark, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4847594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1182593/chapters/2412323">Safe and mine</a>. While Fernando and Sergio are trying to forget about Raúl, Raúl has all but forgotten about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is a sequel to [Safe and mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1182593/chapters/2412323). If you haven't read it, I suggest doing so, because it's probably not going to make sense on its own.
> 
> \- I wrote this during sleepless nights at 3 AM, so this was basically written by my depraved subconscious. Also, how Diego Costa even got into this universe is beyond me. I also have to admit that writing from Raúl’s POV was disturbingly enjoyable.
> 
> \- Okay, I can't believe I'm doing this all over again.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”  
  
Father Vicente del Bosque is new here, appointed after Father Xabier Alonso was transferred at his own request. He doesn‘t know the man behind the grille, he can‘t see his face, nor does he recognize his voice, but the sins that spill from the man’s mouth make him understand. He has heard the story. The bishop felt that the parish needed someone more experienced, and now Father Vicente understands why.  
  
He shivers when the man recounts the stories, leaving out little or nothing, because all the gruesome details are there. Father Vicente almost thinks that it’s not a simple confession, that the man is relishing the words and the memories.  
  
“Why did you come only now?” Father Vicente asks when the man falls silent. “It happened months ago, I believe?”  
  
“Yes,” the man replies. “I guess I tried to go through it alone. But you understand, Father, such life, secluded, lonely... is more than a man can take. I think that I need to start seeing other people again.”  
  
“Indeed,” the priest says. “Though before asking God for forgiveness, you should probably ask the ones you hurt.”  
  
“But how, Father?” the man’s voice is desperate. “I haven’t seen them since. They didn’t even come to the trial. And I’m sure even if I found them, they wouldn’t want to talk to me.”  
  
“You could write them a letter,” Father Vicente offers. “Then they wouldn’t have to talk to you.”  
  
 _And they could burn it without reading it,_  the man thinks.  _Stupid priest._  
  
“Yes, Father,” he says aloud. “You are right.”  
  
“Maybe meeting people who know about your sins could be a part of your penance.”  
  
He has no problems with meeting people. The people who interest him are those who need him, and they don’t care for his past. The other people don’t interest him. They can talk, they can whisper, they can point fingers, he can’t see them, can’t hear them.  
  
What he needs is his old life. He needs it back, and to have it he simply has to leave the safe haven of his mansion.  
  
This will be the first step.


	2. One

Raúl leans back in the chaise longue in his garden and positions his crippled leg on a cushion. He accepts a cup of merengue milk from Esteban, his new butler. Then he looks around him. It’s not a pretty sight.  
  
The garden is unkempt, neglected, like something already half-dead and left to die. The grass is trimmed, but the trees need to be pruned and the flowers are clearly missing Jesús’ hands. The house is slowly falling into disrepair because Esteban couldn’t do everything alone, even if his name was Álvaro Negredo.  
  
Raúl now keeps less servants, because it’s hard to find people he could trust. He’d need at least a capable gardener. Apart from Esteban, there is only Santi, the cook, and Pedro. Faithful Pedro, who came back after the trial, as soon as it was safe for him to come back. Raúl almost crushes the cup in his hand when he remembers the trial. Because of it, his loyal servants Álvaro and Juan are already rotting in the ground, and Iker is rotting in prison. As for Jesús and Silva, the two traitors, Raúl feels nothing but hatred for them. It’s not enough for him to go looking for them, but if he ever met them again, they’d regret ever being born.  
  
But nothing makes him as angry as the thought of Fernando. Fernando, the sweet, naïve, innocent boy who turned out to be the doom of Raúl’s perfect life. He wormed his way into it and then stole Sergio from him.  _Sergio._  The ungrateful bastard. Raúl screeches his teeth. So much work dissolved into nothingness when Fernando came and provided Sergio with hope. And then he broke Raúl’s secrets and sent that priest and a bunch of peasants to his house. Raúl lost Sergio, a great deal of his dignity and the ability to fully use his leg.  
  
Jesús and Silva he would kill, maybe slowly, but he’d give them the mercy of death eventually, if they begged for it enough. What he’d do to Fernando and Sergio would be much worse.  
  
He sets the cup on the table and gets up with some effort. He has to ventilate his anger before it burns his insides to ashes.  
  


* * *

  
Fernando wakes up and startles when he doesn’t find Sergio next to him. Every time, the first thing that comes to his mind is that Raúl has found them, somehow, anyhow, and took Sergio away. It’s extremely unlikely, given the circumstances, but not entirely impossible. That’s what keeps nagging at Fernando’s insides. He feels like they will never be entirely free of the man.  
  
The grey light is pouring in through the window, it’s close to the morning. Fernando doesn’t even need to light a lamp. He looks out at the courtyard. It’s quiet and peaceful. His grandmother’s old house is far away from other houses to give them the much needed quiet and privacy, but it’s not too far away from civilization.  
  
He finds Sergio sitting in the kitchen downstairs, wearing his pajamas. It’s cold there because the fire is not yet lit.  
  
“Bad dreams?” Fernando asks as he lights the fire and puts the kettle on the stove.  
  
“Yes,” Sergio says quietly. “Raúl.”  
  
He still looks scared, whenever he talks about him or just speaks his name, like Raúl is about to emerge from the shadows and take him away.  
  
“You know he can’t hurt you anymore,” Fernando says softly.  
  
“I know. But this time, it wasn’t about me.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“It wasn’t me in that room. It was... like I was just standing in the corner, watching it, and I couldn’t stop it,” Sergio whispers and looks at Fernando. “Maybe he will not hurt me, but he can always hurt someone else.”  
  
Fernando just watches him for a while, then the sound of the boiling water puts him out of his misery and he pours the water over dried chamomile blossoms.  
  


* * *

  
Raúl sets down the cane and wipes the sweat off his forehead. Then he looks down at the boy on the bed. It’s a sight to behold.  
  
The boy is clutching the chains attaching his wrists to the bed tightly, his eyes are squeezed shut as if he’s putting all his effort into staying quiet.  
  
“You were good, Javi,” Raúl praises him. “So good.”  
  
He runs a hand over Javi’s abused back. The boy bites his lip and winces, but doesn’t make a sound.  
  
“I’d say you deserve a reward.”  
  
He feel’s Javi’s muscles tense under his touch and he smirks. His rewards can mean anything. His hand creeps to Javi’s neck, caresses, squeezes a little. Then he runs his fingers over the boy’s shoulder and arm to the place where the soft skin meets the cold metal of the chains. “How about we take these off?” he asks in a light tone of voice.  
  
Only now Javi opens his eyes, slowly and hesitantly, half out of fear and half out of exhaustion. Slowly but surely, Raúl is falling in love with Javi’s eyes, same as he did with Sergio’s years ago. Only Sergio’s were more trusting and they never lost the tiny sparkle of hope. Like he still believed that one day, it would be all over for him, no matter how long it would take. Javi accepts things more easily and learns faster.  
  
Raúl gives him his sweetest smile. “Do you want me to take them off, Javi?”  
  
“Yes,” Javi whispers, then quickly corrects himself: “Yes, please, Master.”  
  
Raúl just smiles indulgently at the small slip in discipline. He’s in a good mood today. A few days ago he came across a lucrative deal, and also his leg let him sleep at night. “But can I take them off?” he wonders aloud. “Can you be good without them?”  
  
Javi is bright enough to understand that what Raúl asks from him is not his opinion but a promise. “Yes, Master, please, I can, I will.”  
  
“You promise?”  
  
“I promise.” It’s nothing more than a whisper against the tear-stained pillow, but it’s enough for Raúl.  
  
He walks over to the door and takes the key from a small hook by the door. It’s another small, subtle torture. When he returns to the bed, he holds the key in his palm and pretends that he’s hesitating. “Before I take them off, I need you to understand something,” he says then and leans over to whisper into Javi’s ear. “There is no way of escape. You don’t exist outside this house anymore. And if you try to get out of this room, if you try to merely push the handle, I will know. And I will kill you. Do you understand?”  
  
Javi swallows hard and then tries to meet Raúl’s eyes. “I understand, Master,” he says.  
  
“Good,” Raúl nods, unlocks the chains and lets them fall to the floor with a loud clank. “I have to go now. Don’t let me down, Javi.”  
  
He walks out of the room and smiles contentedly. Then he heads to the stairs. He has some work to do now.  
  


* * *

  
The bank is already closed. There is only Raúl and Álvaro, his assistant, scribbling something in the accounting books. The boy is young, but loyal and dutiful. He is also very handsome, which is something Raúl cannot fail to notice.  
  
Sometimes in the evening when there is nobody else, when there is no sound but the quiet hissing of the lamp on his table, he closes his eyes and he can see it all. He can see the boy on his knees in front of him, hands tied behind his back, Raúl’s cock in his mouth, pushing further until the boy can’t breathe. He can see him on his back, wrists attached to the bed, shaking and pleading as Raúl pours hot wax over his body. Can see the boy’s bruised back, can see his hands roaming over it, pressing down right where he knows it will hurt the most...  
  
Of course he knows none of it will ever happen. Álvaro is too smart to fall into Raúl’s traps, he comes from a good family and has decent education. He couldn’t just make him disappear. And yet, when he opens his eyes and there’s just the dim office and Álvaro looking at him with the shy smile of his, the thought of something he can’t have has a distinctly bitter taste.  
  
A bell sounds from the hallway and Álvaro gets up from his desk and picks up a bunch of keys. He returns moments later with a dark-haired man. Raúl gets up. “Mr. Costa,” he smiles.  
  
“Mr. González, thank you for receiving me so late,” Costa says and shakes his hand. “But I’d like to keep this meeting private.”  
  
“I understand,” Raúl nods and turns to Álvaro. “You can go home, Álvaro, it will be all.”  
  
Álvaro nods, takes some files from the table and walks out of the office. Then there is a quiet clack of the main door.  
  
“He’s quite something to look at all day,” Costa notes as Raúl pours them both a glass of cognac.  
  
“I see we have the same taste, Mr. Costa,” Raúl smiles. “We will surely understand each other perfectly.”  
  
“Of that I’m sure,” Costa nods and takes the glass from him. “To business.”  
  
They sit at the smaller table in the corner of the room, where it’s more comfortable, mainly for Raúl who needs space for his bad leg.  
  
“You understand, Mr. González, I own a coffee plantation in Brazil,” Costa says. “Recently the slaves were freed in Brazil and it caused me some trouble.”  
  
“What did you do?” Raúl asks.  
  
“Well, I pay them some insignificant amount of money, but I understand that some people could still have things to say about it. That’s why, when I was looking for a bank here in Spain, I came to you. I’ve heard that you are not very strict when it comes to morals.”  
  
“Not really,” Raúl chuckles.  _Who would have thought his bad reputation would give him the deal of his life._  “Not when the moral norms are pointless.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear that,” Costa smiles. “You know, I’m not only looking for a bank to put my money in. I’m offering you a deal. I don’t know how many coffee traders there are in Madrid...”  
  
“None that I know of, no important businesses, at least.”  
  
“Then if you invest in my company, I can offer you great shares. I back up you, you back up me.”  
  
“Does it mean we would be partners?” Raúl asks.  
  
“I see we understand each other,” Costa smirks and drinks another glass of cognac.  
  


* * *

  
Javi slides down the bed carefully. He doesn’t even try to get to the door. He saw Raúl locking it, so there is no point in trying to push the handle. Someone might hear it, and he doesn’t want to get in trouble right when he’s earned himself the privilege of not being chained to the bed anymore.  
  
Raúl once told him the boy who was there before him had spent six months in the chains. Javi only needed four to be tamed enough for them to be taken off. Raúl never told him what happened to that boy and Javi prefers not to know.  
  
He crawls to the window. It’s barred and presents no possible escape way either, but he can see the stars from here and it’s enough for him now.  
  
“God?” he whispers.  
  
Something crashes in the house and he cowers instinctively, but nothing happens. Surely it was just something that fell in the kitchen. Mainly during the days, the noises are not uncommon. Javi likes to imagine that the cook must be extremely clumsy.  
  
He looks back at the sky.  
  
“God, I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I promise I won’t do it again if you take me from here,” Javi whispers frantically. “And if you can’t take me from here, then please let me die.”  
  
Only the stars blink in response. God, as always, doesn’t answer.


	3. Two

“You really don’t want to come with me?” Fernando asks Sergio when he’s getting ready to go to the town.  
  
“I’d rather stay here,” Sergio says quietly. “Clean up the house and so on.”  
  
Fernando suppresses a sigh. They could do with some help, at least a housekeeper, but Sergio doesn’t trust strangers. It means he only trusts Fernando, his sister and maybe Father Alonso. He insists that he will rather do all the chores himself, but he doesn’t want anyone else in the house.  
  
Sergio doesn’t like to leave the house at all. At most, he goes to the forest behind their house, but even then he startles at every sound. He only feels safe inside, with the door bolted and the lights on. He never goes to Fuenlabrada with Fernando.  
  
“All right,” Fernando says. “Do you want me to bring you anything?”  
  
Sergio shakes his head. He never wants anything but Fernando brings him things nevertheless. Sweets, fruit, books that he has to read to him because Sergio never got further than to learning to write his name. But mainly he brings gossip, boring stories that he tells Sergio during the endless afternoons they spend alone in the house. They would be boring to everyone else but to Sergio they are exciting, they connect him with the outside world he is scared of stepping into. It hurts Fernando when he remembers how they used to walk around Madrid, how Sergio even sometimes talked to strangers. That was before the judge decided to release Raúl and Sergio hid back in his shell.  
  
Whenever he thinks of it, he hates Raúl even more.  
  
“I’ll be back in the evening,” Fernando says and picks up his coat.  
  


* * *

  
Javi wakes up lying face down on the bed. It means that he had to somehow climb back onto it at night. The familiar sound of a key being turned in the lock makes him open his eyes. He knows that Raúl never comes in the morning, but then, Raúl isn’t very predictable.  
  
The door opens and Javi thanks God for being merciful. It’s just Esteban. Not that Esteban would ever show any particular mercy to Javi, but compared to Raúl he is almost kind.  
  
“Mr. González will be gone for two days,” Esteban says and sets a plate on the table. “He has to take care of some business out of town.”  
  
Javi can’t believe it. He knows that he prayed all night, but this reward seems to be too big for just one night of prayer.  
  
“He asked me to tell you that I have the right to punish you if you misbehave.”  
  
Javi doesn’t even think of misbehaving. If he can just lay in bed until Raúl comes back, he won’t even move.  
  


* * *

  
The town is small and calm, just a few stands and shops on the main square, a small café and that’s about it, but it scares Sergio just the same Madrid would. He only saw it once, shortly after they arrived. He practically begged Fernando to take him home.  
  
Fernando runs a few errands, then stops by at a stand selling the newspapers. There is never anything interesting in the newspapers, but he buys them nevertheless. Sergio likes when he reads the paper to him, mainly the funny stories about animals that escaped their owners and caused some chaos.  
  
Suddenly a shadow falls on the ground in front of him and Fernando turns around. His heart skips a few beats when he sees the person behind him.  
  
It’s Raúl.  
  
This moment is not new to Fernando, it has already happened a thousand times in his dreams. Sometimes he woke up right after he saw Raúl’s face, sometimes the nightmare continued. But every morning he swore to himself that if he ever saw Raúl again, he would kill him with his bare hands.  
  
But the reality is different.  
  
“What are you doing here?” he barks, looking Raúl in the eyes to show that he’s not afraid of him anymore. “What do you want?”  
  
“Just talk,” Raúl smiles.  
  
“There is nothing to talk about.”  
  
“I think that there is,” Raúl says in a calm voice and looks around. “How about we talk somewhere more... private? There is a nice little café over there.”  
  
Fernando wants to curse him off, he wants to tell him to go to hell, to stop talking about Fuenlabrada like it’s Raúl’s home and not Fernando's, but he can’t bring himself to do anything. It’s like Raúl still has some strange power over him. “I don’t want to talk to you,” he manages finally.  
  
Raúl only smiles condescendingly. “I think you should reconsider,” he says and lowers his voice so that only Fernando can hear him. “After all, you are still my husband.”  
  


* * *

  
Fernando doesn’t know how the cup of coffee appeared in front of him. He’s fairly sure that he didn’t order it himself. He’s having trouble speaking. Raúl, on the other hand, is stirring his coffee like there is nothing strange about him being there.  
  
“What do you want?” Fernando barks finally.  
  
Raúl smiles and takes a sip before looking at him. “Why this tone?” he asks. “I came to talk, like a gentleman. I don’t deserve this attitude.”  
  
“You don’t know what it means to be a gentleman!” Fernando retorts.  
  
Raúl lowers his voice. “Don’t I? I could have gone to your house instead, and I could have taken Sergio back. I could have gone there and have fun with him like in the old good times, and then I could have killed him. Nobody would find out because nobody would see me here. But see? I didn’t. I only came here to talk.”  
  
Fernando takes a deep breath, desperately trying not to imagine all that Raúl is saying.  
  
“The thing is, Fernando, that I am slowly but surely putting my life back together after you and Sergio smashed it into pieces,” he says. “I still have my house, my bank, and my clients, and I’m not going to change a single thing about the way I live. And I came here to warn you. If you cross my way once more, you, Sergio or one of those two little bastards, Jesús and Silva, I won’t be a gentleman anymore. I’ll destroy you.”  
  
He finishes his coffee and throws a banknote on the table casually, then picks up his walking stick and gets up.  
  
“You only want to threaten me because there is no one to be afraid of you anymore!” Fernando says in the firmest voice he is capable of.  
  
Raúl gives him a crooked smile and leans down like he is about to tell Fernando a secret. “Do you really believe that there is no one?” he whispers.  



	4. Three

At first, Fernando thinks that he will never tell Sergio that he talked to Raúl. But then he comes home and by the look Sergio gives him, he knows that he won’t be able to lie to him. Sergio already knows that something terrible happened.  
  
“He was there,” he whispers when they sit on the sofa in the living room. “Raúl. In the city.”  
  
Sergio’s lips shiver. “Did he follow you?”  
  
Fernando shakes his head. “No. He came to me to talk.”  
  
“Talk?” Sergio almost cries out. “What did he want to talk about?”  
  
“He threatened me,” Fernando says. “That we shouldn’t try to cross his way...”  
  
“But it’s  _him_  who came to you, we wouldn’t look for him in a million years!” Sergio says incredulously.  
  
“I know. It seems like he’s starting a new life... or his old life again... and he cares a lot about his image. He doesn’t want anything from his past to resurface,” Fernando sighs. “And the worst thing was...”  
  
Sergio grips his hand and looks him in the eyes. “What?”  
  
“When he reminded me that he was still my husband.”  
  
Sergio inhales sharply and then pulls his knees up to his chin. “We’ll never be free of him,” he whispers.  
  
“Yes, we will,” Fernando says, his fear and shock suddenly turning into anger upon seeing the flashbacks of the old, broken Sergio.  
  
“What do you want to do?”  
  
Fernando looks at him and takes a deep breath. “First of all, I’m going to apply for a divorce.”  
  


* * *

  
Javi listens carefully to the distinctive sound of Raúl’s steps and shivers. The times when Raúl only comes to discipline him or to take his anger out on him are bearable. He’s learned to endure it without pleading, without fighting, he knows what to do not to make Raúl even angrier. He remembers well the few times Esteban had to hold him down, and knows that it made things a lot worse.  
  
What is worse, much worse, is when Raúl has all night to spend with him. When he comes with some elaborate plan in his mind. Which he is sure he has this time. He had three days to put it together.  
  
Javi’s back is still sore and he prays that whatever Raúl wants to do will not include that part of his body. Raúl’s nasty smirk when he walks in however tells him that Javi’s sore back will be his smallest concern.  
  
“Did you miss me, Javi?” Raúl asks, the question already so familiar that Javi wonders if he should even answer it.  
  
Of course he should. Unless he wants to suffer twice as much as he inevitably will.  
  
Javi fixes his eyes on the tips of Raúl’s perfectly polished leather shoes. “I missed you very much, Master,” he mumbles.  
  
Raúl’s hand runs through the strands of his hair and then he pulls and forces Javi to look up. “Now that you’re not chained to the bed, you will kneel on the floor when I walk in, do you understand?”  
  
“I understand, Master,” Javi answers automatically.  
  
Raúl lets go without saying anything. There is something strange about the way he acts. Like he’s in a good mood and it makes him a tiny bit more indulgent. He steps back and looks at Javi appreciatively. “Strip,” he says simply and walks over to the wardrobe in the corner.  
  
Javi forces himself not to look over his shoulder. Whatever Raúl is searching for, Javi will know it soon enough. He focuses on folding his clothes neatly and laying them on the chair. Raúl hates it when people are untidy.  
  
The touch on his back startles him. Raúl runs his hand over the slowly fading bruises and suddenly presses down. A hiss escapes Javi before he can bite his tongue.  
  
“You know, maybe I’ll be more busy from now on,” Raúl says casually, motioning for Javi to get on the bed. “Business. I wouldn’t want you to forget who you belong to when I’m not here.”  
  
“I’d never...” Javi starts, but falls silent after Raúl slaps him across the face.  
  
“I didn’t ask you a question,” Raúl states calmly. “Where were we? Oh. I was thinking about something more... permanent.”  
  
He enjoys the way Javi tenses and imagines the worst possibilities there are. Not that Raúl hadn’t thought about them too. But he knows better than to leave permanent marks that could be connected with him. One never knows what can happen and covering the tracks is always easier when all that he needs to do is to destroy things.  
  
“So I brought you a present,” Raúl says. “But maybe you should deserve it first?”  
  
He ties Javi‘s hands to the bed posts and stuffs a ball of fabric in his mouth, securing it with another piece.  
  
“We don’t want you to bite your tongue, do we?” he smiles.  
  


* * *

  
Fernando is buttoning up his vest when Sergio wakes up, squinting in the pale light coming through the windows.  
  
“Where are you going?” Sergio asks, and his voice is small as it is always when Fernando is leaving the house.  
  
“To the city,” Fernando says. “I’ll probably return late, don’t wait for me.”  
  
“But... you went to the city yesterday,” Sergio objects.  
  
“I don’t mean Fuenlabrada, Sergio,” Fernando smiles. “I’m going to Madrid.”  
  
Sergio almost jumps out of bed. “Why?”  
  
“There’s a lawyer I need to talk to.”  
  
“A lawyer?”  
  
“I told you I wanted to get a divorce,” Fernando says patiently. “Having a lawyer will ensure that I don’t have to meet him as often as I’d need to without one. The lawyer will sort things out for me.”  
  
“All right,” Sergio whispers, still looking at Fernando like a soldier’s wife before a battle.  
  
Fernando puts on his jacket and leans in to kiss Sergio before walking out of the bedroom. There is one more thing he needs from the lawyer, but he knows better than to tell Sergio about it.  
  


* * *

  
Raúl runs a hand over the fresh welts on Javi’s back and unties him, flipping the boy over to his back. Javi screams, the gag muffling the sound.  
  
“Now, now,” Raúl reprimands him, although there is a contented smile on his face.  
  
Sergio was strong enough, but he had a tendency to pass out from pain or overstimulation. This is one of the few things Raúl likes about Javi – no matter what he does to him, Javi is able to stay conscious. It makes things way more interesting.  
  
“I think you deserved your reward,” Raúl states.  
  
He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a leather collar. It’s soft and custom made, because Raúl doesn’t content himself with just anything.  
  
When he lifts Javi’s head up to wrap the leather strap around his neck, Javi whines, half in protest, half because of the pain, and tries to raise his hand and stop him. Raúl makes a clacking sound with his tongue. “Hands.”  
  
It takes longer than he deems acceptable, so he slaps Javi's side for good measure. Finally Javi lifts himself up on his elbows and with some effort manages to slide his hands under his body, so that when he lays back down, he traps them under his lower back.  
  
Raúl nods and continues fiddling with the collar unhurriedly. He tightens it, not enough to make it difficult to breathe, but still enough for Javi to feel the leather on his neck constantly. Then he secures it with a small golden lock. He takes in the sight, the way the collar moves when Javi swallows. “I wish you could see it,” he says, running his fingers along the leather right where it meets Javi’s skin. “You look beautiful.”  
  
He removes the gag and smiles again when Javi‘s eyes flutter in recognition. Raúl always does it before he fucks Javi, because as much as screaming distracts him when he inflicts punishment, he loves the sounds Javi makes when he fucks him. He loves losing himself in them.  
  
“Maybe I’ll have a mirror attached to the ceiling,” he whispers in Javi’s ear, thrusting deep in him. “So that you can see how beautiful you look when I fuck you.”  
  
Javi closes his eyes like the mirror is already there, not opening them again until Raúl comes and leaves him alone on the bed.  
  


* * *

  
When the door closes behind Raúl, Javi curls up into a ball, hugging himself and sobbing violently. He pulls on the leather collar desperately, trying to if not rip it off his neck, then at least loosen it. He fails miserably.


	5. Four

Raúl is sitting in his office, going through the accounting books. They are in perfect order ever since Álvaro is working for him, but it’s his responsibility and his money, not Álvaro’s, so he always takes time to check them. He raises his head when loud voices sound from the hallway.  
  
“I need to talk to Mr. González!” a male voice demands loudly. “Just let me talk to him!”  
  
There is a lower voice, probably Álvaro’s, trying to calm the man down, but to no avail. Only when the voices exceed the level of acceptable, Raúl gets up and opens the door. “What is going on here?” he asks.  
  
“Sir,” Álvaro turns to him with a desperate expression. “I told this gentleman that you were busy, but he refuses to leave!”  
  
Raúl frowns and looks at the man. He’s younger than him, probably around thirty. His eyes are icy blue and his tanned face is crowned by blonde hair that seems to be difficult to tame. The clothes he is wearing are different from what Raúl is used to seeing in the city. He’s wearing simple pants and a flannel shirt, fashion of the countryside. His shoes are soiled, confirming Raúl’s assumption.  
  
“I am Raúl González,” Raúl says. “I suggest we discuss your affairs in my office, Mr...”  
  
“Llorente.”  
  
“Mr. Llorente,” Raúl nods. “This way.”  
  
He shoots a warning glance at Álvaro and the boy blushes.  _As good as he is with numbers, he needs to man up when it comes to confronting clients,_ Raúl thinks. Then he closes the door behind him and the man. Something is telling him that he should deal with him alone.  
  


* * *

  
Fernando is staring at the ceiling, listening to Sergio’s breathing. He can’t fall asleep, not after what happened recently, after what he talked about with the lawyer, after what they had agreed on. It’s almost like he’s back in Raúl’s house, fearing the moment Raúl walks in.  
  
“I know you’re not asleep,” Sergio whispers.  
  
“I thought you were,” Fernando says.  
  
“Are you thinking about him?”  
  
Fernando turns to him. Sergio sounds surprisingly calm. Or rather numb.  
  
“There’s something I’ve never told you,” Sergio says. “That I’ve never told anyone about.”  
  
Fernando is not sure that he wants to hear it, but then, he knows that when Sergio decides to open up, it’s always better to hear him out. It happens rarely, like he accumulates all the bad memories inside and only lets them out when they are ripe enough to be told, when he’s twisted and turned them so much that they are like a thousand times read letter.  
  
“When Raúl took me for the first time, he left me in that room, chained to the bed and blindfolded, for days,” Sergio starts and his voice is clear and calm, like he states a simple fact. “I lost track of time, I didn’t know when it was night and day, and actually, time was the last thing I cared about. The only thing I could think about was when he would come again and if it would hurt more than the first time.”  
  
Fernando grips the bedsheets to prevent himself from punching something. He keeps imagining Sergio, a scared, barely seventeen years old boy who suddenly fell through a trap into the worst nightmare anyone could imagine.  
  
“One night, or at least I think it was night, I heard the door open again. But it wasn’t Raúl.”  
  
Sergio closes his eyes like he’s living it through once again. Fernando wants to hold his hand, but then decides against it. When Sergio is gone to his land of memories, any touch makes it worse.  
  
“I couldn’t see anything, but I realized that there were more people in the room. Álvaro, Iker and Juan. They told me that we’d play a game. One of them would fuck me and I had to guess who it was. If I guessed wrong, that one would fuck me again. If I guessed right, someone else would fuck me. Raúl must have known about it, he must have allowed them to do it or maybe he made it up himself, but he must have known, because I screamed the whole time and they wouldn’t even try to silence me. I don’t know how long it lasted, but it felt like hours before I lost consciousness. I don’t know if they left me alone then, I only remember when I came to, I was in terrible pain and the blindfold was gone, though I was still chained to the bed. It wasn’t by far the worst thing that happened to me there, but I understood one thing. Whatever I did, I couldn’t win. Not against the evil in that house.”  
  
Fernando closes his eyes for a moment and feels the hot tears slip from underneath his eyelids.  
  
“But you are not in that house anymore,” he whispers. “And you are not alone anymore. Together, we can fight that evil. We’ve already started.”  
  


* * *

  
“I am very sorry,” Raúl says in his professional voice. “But things like this happen. When you make an investment, you have to be prepared for it not being successful. Besides that, when an investment is unsuccessful, our bank loses money as well.”  
  
“But... it was all I had!” Llorente exclaims. “I lost my job recently, I won’t be even able to pay my rent next month!”  
  
Raúl narrows his eyes. There is something intriguing about the man, and his desperation only tops it. “What do you do for a living?” he asks.  
  
“I’m a gardener.”  
  
It is clearly Raúl’s lucky day. He leans back in his chair, folds his arms and smiles. “I can offer you a deal, Mr. Llorente,” he says. “I could do something for you, if you could do something for me.”  
  


* * *

  
“So what is your name, actually?” Raúl asks when they are walking towards the mansion.  
  
Pedro is leading the horses to the stables, watching Llorente with suspicion.  
  
“Fernando,” Llorente replies.  
  
Raúl cringes, earning a questioning glance from the younger man. “I’m sorry, it’s just that... I don’t have really good memories connected with that name. My husband’s name was Fernando. We didn’t really split up at friendly terms.”  
  
Llorente nods curtly. “My friends call me Flori, if it helps.”  
  
“Flori. Suitable for a gardener,” Raúl notes and looks around. “Well, this will be your kingdom. There’s a lot of work to be done. Nobody’s been really taking care of the garden for about a year.”  
  
“It’s nothing I couldn’t mend,” Flori smiles. “It had to be a very pretty garden before...”  
  
“Before it transformed into a jungle, yes,” Raúl chuckles. “Well, I’m counting on you.”  
  
“I’ll start today if you need.”  
  
“Very well. But I’ll want you to help around the house as well. I can’t afford to keep many servants.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Raúl stops and looks Flori right in the eyes, playing with the small golden key that is hanging around his neck on a fine chain. “And because of that, there is something I have to show you now.”  
  


* * *

  
When Raúl unlocks the door and walks in, Javi is already kneeling on the floor, his eyes cast down. If he can see Flori, he doesn’t let it show.  
  
Raúl remembers the first day Esteban walked in that room. He fled mere moments later and Raúl found him in the kitchen downing a glass of liquor, with Pedro trying to talk some sense into him. Same went for Santi. But there is only some mild curiousness in Flori’s eyes. He isn’t shocked nor disturbed. At least he doesn’t look like he is. He waits patiently for Raúl to speak.  
  
“This is Javi,” Raúl says, his voice steady and void of any emotion. “He is here for my pleasure and amusement, isn’t that so, Javi?”  
  
“Yes, Master,” Javi mumbles.  
  
“Look up and say it clearly.”  
  
Javi lifts his eyes to Raúl. “I am here for your pleasure and amusement, Master,” he says.  
  
“Good. This is Flori,” Raúl says. “He will be working here.”  
  
Javi looks at Flori and for a moment searches his face for a sign of compassion, but when he finds none, his eyes glaze over and he casts them down again.  
  
“Flori is our new gardener, but he will be helping around the house as well. You will obey him same as you obey Esteban, understood?”  
  
“Yes, Master,” Javi whispers.  
  
“You are clearly not in the mood today, sweetheart,” Raúl chuckles. “We’ll leave you alone, then, but I hope you will be more enthusiastic tonight.”  
  
He waits for Flori to walk out, then gives Javi one last look before locking the door. “You mustn’t tell anyone about what you saw in this house,” he tells Flori. “If you do, I’ll take it as if our agreement never existed. And you know the consequences.”  
  
“You don’t have to worry, sir,” Flori says in a calm voice, and a sparkle appears in his blue eyes. “I didn’t see anything.”


	6. Five

Raúl sits in his chair and drinks a bit of coffee. It’s a sample Costa gave him, and to be honest, Raúl knows nothing about coffee, but it doesn’t taste bad. What tastes better, though, is the thought of the money this coffee will bring him.  
  
The garden almost looks like it used to when Jesús was taking care of it. Flori’s presence is slowly starting to show. The trees will have to wait their turn because it’s not the right time to prune them, as Flori explained to him, but the old flowerbeds are coming to life. It looks like maybe the peonies will even bloom this year, and the roses also look much better. Now Flori’s been sowing vegetables at the back of the garden, to Santi’s joy.  
  
Raúl can imagine why Santi prefers having his own vegetables to going to the market. Nobody dares to spit under Raúl’s feet, but it isn’t the same for his servants.  
  
Santi walks out of the house and crosses the garden, exchanging smiles with Flori. Then he comes to Raúl and hands him a piece of paper. “Will this be all right, sir?” he asks. “Or is there anything I need to change because of our guest...”  
  
Raúl chuckles. “I honestly think that Costa eats and drinks everything, but let me see...” He quickly scans the paper with his eyes and notes that Santi is probably trying to outdo himself. He doesn’t remember being served  _veal in a light egg batter sautéed in white wine and citrus sauce_  before. “I think it’s perfect,” Raúl says. “It almost seems like you are more excited about Mr. Costa than I am.”  
  
Santi blushes. “It’s that we never have guests, and...”  
  
“Of course. Your culinary talent is a little bit idle here,” Raúl smiles. “Well, Mr. Costa is a very lucrative business partner, so I intend to spoil him with everything my house can offer him. Everything.”  
  


* * *

  
When Fernando walks in the kitchen, he finds Sergio flipping through the newspapers he’s brought from the city.  
  
“Have you learned to read without telling me?” he asks.  
  
Sergio turns to him and smiles. “I’m just looking at the pictures,” he says. “I made some porridge if you’re hungry.”  
  
Fernando sits at the table and pours himself a cup of tea, looking at the caricature in Sergio’s newspaper. “You woke up early,” he notes.  
  
Sergio nods and looks at him. “Can I ask you something?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Did you really love him?” Sergio asks. “Raúl. Did you genuinely love him?”  
  
Fernando feels the tea going bitter in his mouth. “Sergio...”  
  
“No, it’s just... I just want to know.”  
  
“I did love him,” Fernando says reluctantly. “When I met him, when I married him... I did love him. He was everything I could wish for. I was poor, he was rich. He cared about me, my opinion, however stupid my opinions were. He never hurt me.”  
  
“So you... if you hadn’t met me, you’d still love him,” Sergio whispers.  
  
Fernando's eyes go wide and he grabs Sergio’s hands. “What are you even saying?” he asks.  
  
“You’d have no reason to hate him, if it wasn’t for me,” Sergio shrugs. “You’d have your perfect life and you wouldn’t have to worry about...”  
  
“Stop,” Fernando says softly. “I know what you think. I’d still be with him if you didn’t happen. But you happened, Sergio.”  
  
“And I ruined your life.”  
  
“No. You didn’t. Neither did Raúl. My life is not ruined. What he ruined was my naivety, my innocence, my belief that there was justice in the world. But he didn’t break me, and I will never allow him to,” he says firmly. “Do you believe me?”  
  
Sergio keeps looking at him for a long time, but then he nods slowly. “I believe you.”  
  
“Good,” Fernando says and pulls Sergio closer.  
  
Sergio sighs when their lips touch, melting in Fernando's arms. Fernando holds him closer and tries to believe himself.  
  


* * *

  
The dinner is indeed spectacular. Esteban set the table with the best dishes and glasses he could find in the house and even though there were almost no flowers in the garden yet, Flori improvised with greenery. And as Raúl said before, he spoils Costa with everything his house can offer – the best cognac, the best cigars and the best silverware, but there’s more than just things. And he already knows that he and Costa have the same taste.  
  
His suspicion is confirmed when he unlocks the door and leads Costa inside the room. The way his eyes light up when he sees Javi, the way he talks to Raúl and the way his voice reflects his excitement tell Raúl that he already has him wrapped around his fingers.  
  
“Shall I leave you alone or...” Raúl raises his brows, eyes moving from Javi to Costa.  
  
Javi looks at him and there’s something akin to betrayal. Raúl almost feels guilty, but then, he needs the deal with Costa and if this helps him, Javi should be  _glad_  to help him. He makes a mental note to explain it to Javi later.  
  
“As for me, I don’t care if you stay. We all like to watch our property, don’t we?” Costa smirks.  
  
Raúl laughs and grabs a chair, then goes to sit in the corner of the room. It’s a completely new experience, sharing his possession and watching it.  
  
He learns fairly quickly that it’s not a pleasant one.  
  
Costa is purely sadistic, there is no art in what he does, and Raúl almost feels like grabbing him by the neck and throwing him out because what he is doing is disrespectful to Raúl’s work.  
  
He suffers through it and when Costa finally leaves, he wants nothing more than to go to bed and forget about the whole evening. Santi is cleaning up after the dinner and Pedro is already in the stables. Raúl beckons Flori who is helping Esteban in the dining room. “Go upstairs and take care of the mess there,” he says.  
  


* * *

  
The gas lamps are still lit when Flori walks in the room. Javi is lying face down on the bed, trembling with sobs. When Flori touches his shoulder, he starts trashing violently.  
  
Flori grabs him and clears his throat, unsure of what to do. “It’s me,” he says finally. “He’s gone.”  
  
Javi clutches the sleeves of his shirt, his eyes still closed, and he slumps against Flori slightly. “You smell like sun,” he whispers. “And flowers and soil.”  
  
Flori frowns, but then realizes that Javi probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore. “Yeah, right,” Flori mumbles and grabs the dirty sheets to throw them on the ground.  
  


* * *

  
“Sir?”  
  
Raúl’s head snaps up when Álvaro’s voice finally gets to him through the images in his head and the constant stream of thoughts deafening him. From the boy’s awkward posture he realizes that he must have been standing there for a long time already.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Someone is here to see you,” Álvaro says. “I told him you were busy and he needed to make an appointment, but he insists that you will be interested in this matter. And he says it isn’t about business.”  
  
“Not about business?” Raúl frowns. “Who is it?”  
  
Álvaro hands him a visiting card. “He says he’s a lawyer.”  
  
Raúl sighs deeply. “All right,” he says. “Send him in.”  
  
Álvaro nods and walks out of the office. He returns moments later with a middle-aged, well-dressed man whose hair has seen much more pomade than it should. “Mr. González,” the man says. “Thank you for receiving me. My name is Diego Simeone and I’m your husband’s lawyer. Mr. Torres asked me to give you this.”  
  
Raúl frowns and takes the file Simeone is handing him. “What is it?” he asks.  
  
“A divorce petition,” Simeone says calmly. “Mr. Torres warned me that you will probably not be ready to sign it, but I hope that if I go over the conditions with you, it will help you in your decision.”  
  
“So my husband has conditions now,” Raúl says through gritted teeth. “Well done. Sit down if you please, Mr. Simeone, I would  _love_  to listen to them.”


	7. Six

_A divorce. So you destroy my life and now you apply for a divorce. You’d be nobody without me._  
  
Raúl throws the file on the table and pours himself a glass of cognac. He downs it and immediately refills it. He spends a good moment just sitting there, looking into the semi-darkness before he notices Álvaro standing next to his table, smiling shyly.  
  
“What is it?” Raúl almost barks.  
  
Álvaro hands him a piece of paper. Raúl growls internally. Good education and manners are one thing, but sometimes he wishes Álvaro just asked him for things instead of giving him official applications that he has to read.  
  
“Three days leave?” Raúl frowns. “May I know the reason?”  
  
“I’m getting married.”  
  
“Oh,” Raúl says and smiles. “I didn’t even know that you were engaged. Well, we should drink to it, then.”  
  
He motions for Álvaro to sit on the small sofa in the corner of the room, then walks over to the cupboard and takes out another glass. He fills it with the cognac and hands it to Álvaro. Álvaro accepts it with another shy smile. Raúl downs his glass while Álvaro barely drinks a third of its content.  
  
“So, who is the lucky one?” Raúl asks.  
  
Álvaro quickly puts down his glass, like he’s afraid of answering Raúl too late. “Oh. Nacho, we met already at school.”  
  
“First love, then,” Raúl muses. “I married a boy like that. It can be sweet, but also... You know, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes, when it’s someone equally inexperienced, you could be disappointed with certain things.”  
  
Álvaro blushes and looks at his knees. Raúl shuffles closer to him. “I could teach you,” he says in a husky voice and then pulls Álvaro to him and presses his lips to the boy’s.  
  
Álvaro jerks and raises his hands. Then there is sharp pain and a breeze and in the next moment, the sound of the front door closing gets to Raúl’s ears. He lifts his hand to touch his lip and then looks at the blood on his fingertips.  
  
“Look at you, little boy,” he mumbles. “At least you’re not a slut.”  
  


* * *

  
Javi’s heart almost stops when the key rustles in the lock. He can’t imagine what he’ll do if it’s Raúl. Well, he knows what he’ll do. What he always does – just do whatever Raúl wants from him and pray either for surviving it or for quick death.  
  
The door opens and Javi breathes a sigh of relief. It’s just Flori, carrying a basket. He pulls out the plates with food out, lays them on the table and looks at Javi. “Move over,” he barks. “I have to clean the room.”  
  
Javi scrambles to his feet, grabs the food and goes to sit on the chair in the corner. Flori pays no attention to him as he takes a handle out of his pocket and after carefully checking that the backyard is empty, opens the window to let in some fresh air. Then he proceeds to clean the gas lamps.  
  
Javi finishes the food and just sits there, not knowing what to do. Somehow, Flori’s quiet presence is almost calming, despite the lack of interaction.  
  
Then Flori throws a bundle of clothes at Javi, startling him. “Clean clothes,” he says in his usual curt way. “Change and give me the dirty ones.”  
  
Javi stands up and looks at the clothes apprehensively. Suddenly he feels unexplainably shy. But Flori turns his back to him and starts picking up the dishes. By the time he turns back, Javi’s managed to change into the clean pants, and he quickly pulls the shirt over his head. Flori takes the dirty clothes from him without a word and stuffs them in the basket. Then he closes the window and heads to the door. Javi just watches him, caught off guard by this strange, unfamiliar pattern.  
  
“Don’t you want...” he starts, biting on his lower lip.  
  
Flori turns to him. “What?”  
  
“I... Esteban sometimes wants me to...”  
  
Flori keeps looking at him for a while, like he’s considering. “No,” he says then and bangs the door behind him.  
  


* * *

  
Raúl is pacing around his apartment. He is still slightly drunk because he had another glass when Álvaro fled, but it didn’t help diminish the anger in him. He needs to get it out, and there is only one way to do it. If he was home, he’d take his anger out on Javi.  _You’re lucky tonight, sweetheart._  
  
He hires this apartment for the nights when he works until late, or when he has an appointment early the following day. It’s good for some things, but if he has certain needs, it’s more complicated. Raúl still has his ways, though.  
  
He walks down the stairs and knocks on the door of the apartment in the ground floor. It belongs to Pep, his landlord. Pep is a bald, middle-aged man who cares for nothing but money. Raúl likes making business with people like that.  
  
“Mr. González!” Pep exclaims when he sees him. “What can I do for you?”  
  
“I could use some company tonight and you understand that a man of my status can’t go to look for one himself,” Raúl says and tucks a banknote in Pep’s pocket. He doesn’t need to say more. It’s not the first time he’s asking Pep to find him a boy for the night.  
  
“Of course, Mr. González,” Pep says in his slimy voice he uses every time he talks to Raúl. “It won’t be a problem.”  
  
“You know my tastes. Be quick about it,” Raúl says curtly and offers Pep another banknote.  
  
Pep makes a grab for it and bows slightly. “I can assure you that you will be satisfied, sir,” he says.  
  
Raúl makes a non-committal sound and walks back up to his apartment.  
  


* * *

  
Barely an hour later, there is a knock on the door. Raúl goes to answer it himself rather than inviting the person in.  
  
There is a boy standing at the doorstep. By one look Raúl knows that Pep was right about his taste again. Raúl never wants someone who’d remind him of Javi, or before, of Sergio. Never wants the one night fun to mingle with things he actually cares about.  
  
The boy is of medium built, his ginger hair is cut short, but somehow imperfectly, like he cuts it himself in front of a mirror. His grey sweater would need a good washing, but Raúl couldn’t care less for some clothes that are going to be taken off anyway.  
  
He keeps looking around the apartment in awe. It’s something he’s not used to, something different from the cold, dim rooms with moldy walls and the smell of rotting trash in the backyards. It gives him hope of going home with a decent payment. Wherever the place he calls home is.  
  
“What’s your name?” Raúl asks.  
  
The boy tears his gaze from one of the shiny trinkets and looks at him. “Asier.”  
  
Raúl doesn’t care if the name is fake or not, he just needs to call the boy something. “Asier,” he repeats. “So what can you offer me, Asier?”  
  
“Whatever you want.”  
  
“Whatever I want,” Raúl says thoughtfully. “I take your word, then. Strip.”  
  
He walks over to the table and pours himself a glass of anise liquor, but doesn’t drink it yet. Then he turns around to see that Asier has already discarded his clothes. That boy is fast. “There are candles on the nightstand,” Raúl says. “Light them.”  
  
He likes these little touches. It’s like letting people dig their own grave before killing them.  
  
The boy, however, looks unimpressed. The look in his eyes is distant, indifferent, like nothing that comes could surprise him. Raúl takes it as a personal challenge to prove him wrong.  
  
He doesn’t keep any of his toys in the apartment. It’s too risky, as someone – most likely Pep – could go through his things, and while Raúl doesn’t care what people think about him, he only doesn’t care when they don’t have a proof.  
  
But Raúl also has a broad imagination and is a master of improvisation. He takes one of the decorative ropes that hold the curtains drawn to the sides and turns around. “Kneel down.”  
  
The boy moves, but Raúl raises his hand to stop him. “No. On the floor.”  
  
By the slight wince, almost imperceptible, when he ties the boy’s hands behind his back, he can tell that he is not one of those who enjoy it. At least that. Otherwise the game can get quite boring.  
  
It would be better if he could stand, but his leg won’t let him. He sits on the bed and beckons the boy. “Suck me.”  
  
He can tell that the boy is not used to doing it like this, without using his hands. It wouldn’t be such a letdown for Raúl as this isn’t the only thing he wants to do, but he still slaps the boy’s face. “You’re useless!” he barks.  
  
The boy winces but stays silent. It’s not something he’s learned in this profession, it’s rooted much deeper. Raúl pulls him up and practically throws him on the bed. Then he pulls out his belt and loops it around the boy’s neck.  
  
He tightens the belt, not enough to not let him breathe at all, but it’s just so-so. He is skilled enough in this. At least he’s managed to get the indifferent look out of Asier’s eyes. Raúl almost laughs at the way the boy’s instincts make him fight against his bonds. “If you’re good, I’ll loosen it in a while,” he says.  
  
Asier closes his eyes for a moment, willing himself to stay calm. Even when the first drops of wax fall on his abdomen, he only flinches slightly. And amidst the pleasure and satisfaction, Raúl feels a tiny bit of respect.  
  


* * *

  
The house is quiet. The clumsy cook has stopped banging the pots and clanking with the dishes and also Esteban’s quick steps ceased to sound in the corridors. Javi hasn’t heard the carriage arriving, which means that Raúl most likely isn’t home. Otherwise he’d hear him walk to the dining room and back.  
  
He curls up under the blanket that still smells faintly of soap, and slides one hand under the pillow out of habit. His fingers touch something cold. He pulls his hand out immediately, startled. Then he slowly lifts up the pillow.  
  
It’s a peony, only the blossom, the stem is cut short. It’s already a bit withered, but Javi cups it in his palms like it’s a legendary treasure nevertheless. He buries his face in the petals, breathing in the scent.  
  


* * *

  
Raúl buckles his belt and looks over his shoulder at the boy. He could kill him now. Nobody would miss him if he disappeared. Only that Raúl doesn’t have a reason to do it. He got what he wanted, the boy is useless to him now. It’s just the knowledge that he could, the power he still holds.  
  
“I like you, you know,” Raúl states. “You’re not one of the naïve, idealistic fools, you’re not expecting people to be nice to you by default. You’re realistic. You have a good chance of survival in this world.”  
  
Asier doesn’t answer, busying himself with putting his clothes back on. Raúl helps him then by pulling at the hem of his sweater because the boy is taking longer than Raúl fancies. Asier gives him what could be interpreted as a hateful look. The hunger with which he makes a grab for the money is not diminished, though. Raúl watches him practically crawl down the stairs, gripping the railing tight. He’d still come back. Raúl is sure of it.


	8. Seven

Three days later, Álvaro comes back to work. Raúl looks at the golden ring on his finger and almost snorts. He finds it ridiculous that there are still people who believe in such childish things like love and marriages out of love.  
  
He doesn’t say any of that out loud, though. Instead he stands up and clears his throat. “I know that it doesn’t excuse my actions, but I’d like you to know that I am going through some personal problems and that is why I got drunk that night and I did what I did. My behavior was very inappropriate, it’s inexcusable. However, I’d be very glad if you could accept my apology,” he recites like a poem and offers Álvaro his hand.  
  
Álvaro keeps looking at him for a while before taking Raúl’s hand. “All right,” he says.  
  
Raúl smiles. It’s not like he expected anything else. The job is too lucrative for a young man like Álvaro to lose it over something stupid like this.  
  
“Also, I thought that this could be a part of the apology,” Raúl says and takes a rather thick envelope from the table. “As well as a wedding present, maybe. I can imagine a young couple wants to set up their life, and if we leave the love out, there are certainly things you can buy.”  
  
Álvaro gives him his signature shy smile and takes the envelope. Then he walks over to his table and opens the accounting books like nothing ever happened.  
  
Raúl smiles contentedly.  _That will shut your pretty mouth._  
  


* * *

  
Fernando pushes the gate and crosses the yard. The front door is locked as always. This time, though, it’s also latched from the inside and he has to bang on the door. The sound of steps in the hallway tells him that Sergio is creeping to the door.  
  
“It’s me,” Fernando calls and the steps become faster. Sergio unlatches the door and lets him in.  
  
“Hi,” he says nervously.  
  
“Are you all right?” Fernando asks, looking at Sergio and the door.  
  
“Yes,” Sergio says. “I just... I thought I was hearing steps outside the house... I...”  
  
“Fine,” Fernando says and locks and latches the door, acting like it’s a normal thing to do. “Let’s go to the kitchen, I need something warm.”  
  
Sergio still looks nervous, and only calms down when Fernando makes two cups of tea and brings them to the living room.  
  
“I’m sorry for leaving you here alone,” Fernando says.  
  
“It’s fine,” Sergio mumbles. “You need to talk to the lawyer, I understand.”  
  
Fernando takes a breath. “Actually, the lawyer, Mr. Simeone, would like to talk to  _you_.”  
  
Sergio’s eyes widen. “Me?”  
  
Fernando nods and sits down. “He says it could help us.”  
  
Sergio keeps looking at him, lips shivering. “He wants to talk about... Raúl?”  
  
“Yes,” Fernando answers. “He could come here, or we could go to his office, anything you want. And I’d be with you all the time, all right?”  
  
Sergio takes a sharp breath. “I... don’t know if I can... talk about him with... a stranger. I really don’t know...” He pulls his knees to his chest and hides his face.  
  
Fernando wraps his arms around Sergio. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispers. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want it. Just think about it, all right?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sergio whispers. “I’m sorry, I know I always disappoint you, but...”  
  
“No, you don’t. Sergio, please, you don’t. I’m not disappointed. I just said what Simeone offered. If we don’t do it, it’s fine.”  
  
Sergio nods, but Fernando already knows that he didn’t convince him. They don’t speak for the rest of the day.  
  


* * *

  
“Mr. Pérez is here, sir,” Álvaro says.  
  
“Great,” Raúl nods. “Send him in. And... take the rest of the day off. Maybe your husband will appreciate it.”  
  
“Certainly, sir,” Álvaro smiles in such an enamored way that it makes Raúl sick to the stomach.  
  
When Florentino Pérez walks in and sits opposite to Raúl, Raúl only pushes the file Simeone left at his office, closer to him.  
  
“Well,” Pérez says after he studies it. “I don’t see anything potentially wrong with this.”  
  
“Are you serious?” Raúl growl and leans closer to his lawyer. “He has  _conditions_ , the boy who was a nobody before he married me and who is a nobody now that he doesn’t share my bed, wants me to play by  _his_  rules? This is ridiculous!”  
  
“He’s not asking for anything impossible,” Pérez shrugs. “As in, he doesn’t want your money, which...”  
  
“Screw money!” Raúl barks and jabs his finger in the paper. “Publicly apologizing? He wants to destroy me, that’s what he wants!”  
  
“Well, but he also makes it clear that if you agree with the divorce, you don’t have to comply to any of those conditions, except this... what is this... not approaching Fuenlabrada? Well, Mr. González, why would you even want to go to such God-forgotten hole?” Pérez chuckles.  
  
“That’s where he lives now,” Raúl mumbles.  
  
“Oh. He was better off as your husband, certainly.”  
  
“Of course he was!” Raúl snaps. “And didn’t appreciate it. Now if I sign this paper, I admit that I’ve harmed him. If I don’t, I have to apologize publicly.”  
  
“He’s a clever guy,” Pérez smirks. “Or his lawyer is. We’ll leave them that.”  
  
“We won’t leave them anything,” Raúl corrects him in a dangerous voice. “Find a way out of this. Or a way around this. It’s what I pay you for.”  
  
“Has it ever crossed your mind, Mr. González, that maybe the boy just needs to be left alone?” Pérez asks.  
  
“The boy...” Raúl says through gritted teeth. “Has to be taught a lesson. Nothing more.”  
  
He grabs his coat and his hat and looks at Pérez, who looks slightly nervous now. “And now if you excuse me,” he says. “I’m  _really_  looking forward to going home.”  
  


* * *

  
Fernando stares at the ceiling. His mind is packed with thoughts and worries. They haven’t heard from Raúl since Simeone gave him the petition. Not that Fernando expected Raúl to sign it immediately and let him go just like that, but Simeone told him that he didn’t refuse to sign it either. He just said that he needed to talk to his lawyer. Which, on one hand, is a good thing, because like that it could be a battle of lawyers and Fernando and Sergio would be mostly left out of it. But as he knows Raúl, he would bet that it won’t be that simple.  
  
“I’ll do it.”  
  
The voice is so quiet that Fernando almost thinks it’s just his imagination. But when he turns around, he meets Sergio’s eyes, wide and scared, but somehow determined.  
  
“I’ll do it,” he repeats. “I’ll talk to the lawyer.”  
  
Fernando touches Sergio’s hand gently. “You don’t have to.”  
  
“But I want to,” Sergio says, louder this time. “I want to at least try. I want... at least once... to wake up to your touch and be absolutely sure that it’s you touching me. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life locked in this house, fearing every step that sounds outside, because... what is the difference between being locked in Raúl’s house or here, when I’m still there in my mind?”  
  
Fernando shuffles closer to Sergio and wraps his arms around him. “I know,” he says. “I know.”  
  
“Tell him... to come here,” Sergio says then. “I think I can’t go out, not yet.”  
  
“Sure,” Fernando smiles and caresses Sergio’s hair. “And I’ll never leave your side, I promise.”  
  
“Fine,” Sergio breathes. “Then I think I can do it.”


	9. Eight

Javi closes his eyes, only long enough to let the tears slip down his temples. Raúl’s hands are gripping his wrists as he moves inside Javi, tantalizingly slowly. Out of all the things Raúl does with him, this is the worst, probably because it feels so  _normal_. He has to look Raúl in the face because Raúl won’t let him look away, and although he doesn’t want to feel any pleasure, his body usually betrays him like this.  
  
“No, please, don’t...” he whispers when Raúl leans in to kiss his neck, licking just in the right places to make Javi squirm.  
  
“Why?” Raúl chuckles. “You like it.”  
  
Although Raúl usually enjoys inflicting pain, Javi is sure that he enjoys torturing him this way almost equally much. He sobs quietly when Raúl pulls out, letting go of his wrists, his fingers leaving marks and dull pain that feels almost good, almost reassuring, being the only proof that Javi didn’t want this.  
  
Raúl nips at the sensitive flesh of Javi’s inner thighs and then laps at every inch of skin at his groin. Javi’s fingers knot in Raúl’s hair on reflex and he hates himself for it. He shouldn’t like it, but Raúl can make it feel so good, bring him so close to release... only to torture him even longer.  
  
“No, no, sweetheart, not yet,” Raúl smiles and grips the base of Javi’s cock. “It wouldn’t be right if you got your reward before you please me, would it?”  
  
Javi closes his eyes and swallows hard, praying to God for it being a rhetorical question because he’s not able to speak right now. But Raúl doesn’t insist, he just waits for Javi to calm down a little bit before he flips him over.  
  
Javi screams at the top of his lungs when Raúl shoves himself deep inside, fucking him senseless. He slides a hand under the pillow behind his head, fingers touching the dead peony in a desperate attempt to keep his mind from clouding and getting lost in the sensations, but he’s too far gone already. Screams fade into moans and sobs and quiet begging, and then his whole body shudders as he comes violently. He falls on the bed in exhaustion, too tired to move even when Raúl turns him to his back so that he could cradle him in his arms, however sick it makes Javi feel.  
  
“Did I make you feel good, darling?” Raúl coos, caressing Javi’s hair.  
  
“Yes, Master,” Javi hears himself saying. “Thank you, Master.”  
  
Raúl smirks, sliding a finger across Javi’s lips. “Right,” he says. “You know how to be grateful, don’t you?”  
  
Javi tenses, searching the words for hidden meaning, but Raúl just keeps running his fingers through his hair.  
  
“Unlike my stupid husband,” he says. “I can’t even count how many times I took care of him like this. Apparently it wasn’t what he wanted.”  
  
Javi puts all his strength into keeping his eyes open. He knows it would have terrible consequences if he fell asleep when Raúl wants to talk.  
  
“You know, sometimes I think I should maybe get married again,” Raúl says. “It would certainly help my reputation. I’d need to find someone more manageable, though. I hate how unpredictable those young men are nowadays. They look like saints but then they destroy your life. What do you think?”  
  
“Then marry a woman,” Javi croaks.  
  
Raúl laughs loudly, throwing his head back. “Oh, Javi, you amuse me,” he breathes. “Women are nosy. Even my husband was nosy enough to find out about my secret. Just imagine someone would find out about you. No, we can’t have that.”  
  
Then he gets up and puts on his clothes casually. He stops at the door and turns back to look at Javi. “I won’t let anyone take you from me,” he says. “I will not repeat the same mistake twice.”  


 

* * *

  
Sergio is ready for Diego Simeone’s visit two hours before the appointment. Ready, in the sense of cleaning the house, preparing some food and grooming himself. Fernando tells him that Simeone isn’t coming to inspect their house nor to have dinner, but Sergio insists that it calms him down.  
  
When Simeone knocks on the door, Sergio almost hides under the table. But then he musters up the courage and when Fernando opens the door, Sergio is already lurking at the end of the hallway.  
  
Simeone turns out to be more civil and tactful than Sergio had expected. He wonders if Fernando had warned him or if it’s just the way he is, but he keeps his distance from Sergio and never insists if there is a question Sergio is not willing to answer.  
  
“Thank you for talking to me,” he says then.  
  
“I just hope that it helps,” Sergio shrugs.  
  
“Maybe it will. Anyway, it takes a lot of courage to speak about it.”  
  
Sergio sighs and picks at a thread hanging from the cuff of his shirt. “I feel guilty,” he says. “Because if I wasn’t a coward, if I went to the trial, if I faced Raúl in front of the judge, maybe he wouldn’t have escaped. If I denied his lies, if the judge saw me...”  
  
“Yes, maybe,” Simeone nods. “But perhaps it would still be your word against his. There were many witnesses, and yet Raúl still managed to fool the judge.”  
  
“But he cannot just refuse to divorce, can he?” Sergio asks. “Because, I mean, it’s about that, isn’t it?”  
  
Simeone exchanges looks with Fernando and then smiles. “Yes, it is about that. And no, he cannot resist the divorce forever. Mainly not when his husband doesn’t want money from him. He can stand on his head, but finally he will have to sign it.”  
  
Fernando sees Simeone to the door and then returns to Sergio, who is still sitting on the sofa, playing with his clothes nervously.  
  
“I’m proud of you,” Fernando whispers and kisses him.  
  
“I just want this to end,” Sergio says. “If I can help it, I will.”  
  
“It will end soon, I promise,” Fernando breathes out. “Good has to win eventually, no matter how bit the evil.”  
  
“I wish I could believe it,” Sergio sighs. “I really wish I could.”  


 

* * *

  
Javi recognizes Esteban’s steps. He gathers the last remnants of his strength, lifts the mattress and hides the peony blossom between the straw mattress and the wooden grille. Just when the mattress falls back on its place, the door opens and Esteban walks in.  


 

* * *

  
Raúl walks in his office and sighs. The bank is still closed, his employees are preparing everything for another day and this is usually Raúl’s time to have some tea and calmly go through his plans for the day. But today, Florentino Pérez is already waiting for him with his omnipresent leather-bound file.  
  
“Good morning, Mr. González,” he says.  
  
“It was good before I walked in,” Raúl growls. “I hope you have good news.”  
  
“I come with a plan,” Pérez grins.  
  
“Perfect. Can I get a cup of tea at least before we start?”  
  
The cup appears in front of him before he is even done speaking and Álvaro promptly retires back to his table, leaving them alone. Raúl picks up the cup and sips on the strong infusion before dipping the slice of lemon in it with a tiny silver spoon. “Well, what is the plan?”  
  
“Your husband is basically threatening that he will expose you, isn’t that so?” Pérez asks.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then beat him with his own weapons,” Pérez smiles.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
His lawyer leans closer to him. “Make him a liar,” he says. “Show the world that you have nothing to hide. You are a honorable citizen with powerful friends. What could he expose when he finds nothing? And your past affairs don’t interest anyone.”  
  
“True,” Raúl mumbles. “True.”  
  
Pérez leans back in the chair, obviously satisfied with himself. Raúl drinks the rest of his tea and puts the cup down.  
  
“I can’t say that I like it, but it looks like the only possible solution.”  
  
“Why wouldn’t you like it?”  
  
“I will have to make some sacrifices,” Raúl sighs. “But you are right. I’ll destroy him for good, and then I’ll finally live in peace. Me, not him.”  
  
“Then when his lawyer comes again...” Pérez looks at him.  
  
“Send him to hell,” Raúl says. “There will be no divorce. There will be war.”


	10. Nine

Javi opens his eyes when he hears the carriage stop in the back of the house. He creeps to the window and looks out. Raúl gets off the carriage and heads right to the house, walking so energetically that his limp is almost imperceptible. Pedro unharnesses the horses and leads them to the stable, while Esteban runs after Raúl. Javi notices that Flori is leaning over the wall of the stable, talking to Pedro and laughing about something.  
  
It takes barely half an hour before the key sounds in the lock. Raúl walks in, but unlike other times, he barely looks at Javi. He walks over to the wardrobe in the corner and unlocks it. Then he returns back to Javi and shows him a leather flogger.  
  
Javi shivers. Raúl has never used it on him, but he’s talked about it many times. Javi tries to remember what he did wrong to deserve it, but with Raúl, he can as well be innocent. Raúl doesn’t need justification for his actions.  
  
“Kiss it,” Raúl orders.  
  
Javi doesn’t know what it is that makes him lift his eyes to meet Raúl’s, even though his reason is screaming at him not to. It’s probably the very last remnant of his pride that makes him speak in a voice that doesn’t shake. “I’d only kiss a cross.”  
  
Raúl’s face turns red. He stands still for a moment, stunned. Then he raises the hand with the flogger and brings it down blindly. That’s it, runs through Javi’s mind as he curls up, protecting at least his face with his hands. He only wonders how long it will take before Raúl kills him like this. He prays for it to be quick.  
  
The door opens suddenly, so fast that it hits the wall.  
  
“Sir,” Flori’s voice says, loud and steady.  
  
“What?” Raúl barks.  
  
“Your husband’s lawyer is here, asking to see you.”  
  
His voice doesn’t waver even when Javi curls up on the floor, whimpering quietly.  
  
“Is he inside the house?” Raúl asks, a tiny bit of worry worming its way in his voice.  
  
“Not yet, sir, Pedro is keeping him outside. But he can’t do that forever.”  
  
“Of course,” Raúl mumbles, drops the cat on the floor and wipes his forehead. Then he looks at Flori. “Stay here with him. Make sure he keeps quiet. He’s not nearly as tamed as we had thought him to be.”  
  


* * *

  
Raúl finds Simeone in the salon where Santi is serving him tea. Simeone shakes his hand and then they sit facing each other. Raúl waits for the other man to start talking.  
  
“I talked to your lawyer,” Simeone says.  
  
“Yes? Then why are you here?” Raúl drawls, reaching for his cup.  
  
“I wanted to make sure that this was the way you wanted,” Simeone says calmly. “Haven’t you changed your opinion?”  
  
Raúl raises his brows. “My opinion? No. I won’t let you threaten me. I have nothing to hide, and if my husband thinks otherwise, he’ll have to prove it to me.”  
  
“So you want war, Mr. González,” Simeone says. “You’ll have it.”  
  
“I can’t wait,” Raúl smiles.  
  


* * *

  
Flori drags Javi to the bed and takes a closer look at him. There is a red line on Javi’s cheek, dangerously close to the eye, but his forearms took most of the lashes. He’s shaking deliriously. Flori walks over to the basin with water that is standing in the corner of the room and takes the washing cloth. When he places it on Javi’s forehead and lowers him down, Javi whimpers and grips Flori’s hand.  
  
“Hush,” Flori whispers. “If someone hears us, Mr. González will punish us both.”  
  
“Why are you doing this?” Javi whispers. “You’re not a bad person. You don’t have the eyes of a bad person.”  
  
“I have no choice,” Flori says. “I lost all my money, and I even owe Mr. González’ bank. I’d go to prison. He offered me a deal.”  
  
Javi says nothing, he just snuggles up to Flori, closing his eyes.  
  
“The peony,” he whispers. “Bring me another one?”  
  
“They’ve finished flowering,” Flori replies bluntly.  
  
“Another flower then? Anything.”  
  
Flori doesn’t answer, he just untangles his body from Javi’s and walks to the window. “He’s leaving,” he says, watching Simeone’s carriage disappear behind the curve. “I better go.”  
  
Then he walks out of the room, locking the door behind him.  
  


* * *

  
Raúl walks in his office and lights the lamp on his table. The bank is already closed and the building is quiet. Only Álvaro is still writing something at his table.  
  
Raúl walks to the door and locks it. Álvaro looks at him and Raúl would swear that for a second, something akin to fear flashed in his eyes. Their earlier encounter is most likely not forgotten yet. Raúl walks up to him. “I’ll need you to rewrite something,” he says.  
  
He puts a stack of accounting books in front of Álvaro, and then another stack of papers.  
  
Álvaro flips through them and then looks at Raúl with horror. “But these are...”  
  
“Don’t ask what these are. Rewrite them.”  
  
“But that is a fraud!”  
  
“Only if you call it that,” Raul smiles. “Dear, if you want to succeed in this job, you can’t always play by the rules. And if you want to keep the job, you mustn’t question your boss’ orders. Is that clear?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Álvaro mumbles and dips the pen in ink.  
  
“Good boy,” Raúl smiles and pats him on the back. He leaves a thick envelope on the table. “That is for working overtime,” he says. “And everything that goes with it.”  
  


* * *

  
Fernando walks in Simeone‘s office and sits down. From the look on his lawyer‘s face, he can already tell what situation they are in.  
  
“He didn’t agree to it,” he states bluntly.  
  
“No. His lawyer told me he wouldn’t sign it. I went to González’ house then, but he insisted. He wants to take it to court.”  
  
“Then are we going to do what we’ve agreed to?” Fernando asks.  
  
“Yes,” Simeone nods. “Mr. González will be in for an unpleasant surprise tomorrow.”


	11. Ten

When Raúl walks in the bank in the morning, he knows immediately that something is not right. There are no clients, but the bank isn’t empty either. Men in grey suits are all over the place, and in the middle of it, Álvaro looks like the world is about to end.  
  
“Mr. González!” he exclaims when he sees him. “The gentlemen say that they are revenue officers. They want to see all our documentation, all the accounting books...”  
  
“Is it so?” Raúl raises his brows and looks around. “Gentlemen?”  
  
The men stop discussing and look at him. Raúl smiles. “I am Raúl González, I own this bank. I’m told by my assistant here that you need to check my documents.”  
  
“Yes,” one of the men says and shows Raúl his license. “We are here to investigate a denouncement that was made concerning your person and your transactions.”  
  
“An anonymous denouncement, I suppose?” Raúl smirks.  
  
“I am not free to disclose any details, sir. If the denouncement was unjustified, then this will be just a routine check. But if not...”  
  
Raúl laughs shortly. Álvaro looks at him desperately. “Sir...”  
  
“It’s all right, Álvaro,” Raúl smiles, clipping the boy on the shoulder. “Show them anything they ask for. We don’t have anything to hide, do we?”  
  
The revelation in Álvaro’s face is almost amusing. “No, sir, we don’t,” he whispers.  
  
“Great. Will you need me for anything, gentlemen, or can I leave you here with my assistant?”  
  
“We won’t need you now, Mr. González,” one of the men says. “We’ll discuss the results with you when we’re done.”  
  
“Great,” Raúl smiles. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have some matters to solve now.”  
  


***

  
“What is it, González?” Costa barks as soon as he sits down at the table in the back room of a club. “A control in your bank? We don't need that!”  
  
“Don’t worry, Mr. Costa,” Raúl smiles. “It’s just my husband’s whim, or rather his lawyer's, but they won’t find anything.”  
  
“I hope so!” Costa says. “I certainly don’t need anyone to check my accounts.”  
  
“They won’t,” Raúl assures him. “I made sure your name isn’t mentioned anywhere. As for your money, it’s like it never passed through my bank.”  
  
“All right,” Costa says, having seemingly calmed down a bit. “But if your husband sent those dogs to your bank, won’t he send any to your house?”  
  
“He might.”  
  
“And shouldn’t you mind it?”  
  
“I shouldn’t, unless they find something I wouldn’t want them to find,” Raúl smirks and drinks the rest of his coffee. “Which they won’t.”  
  
A nasty smirk appears on Costa’s face. “Business first, eh?”  
  
“Always,” Raúl smiles.  
  


***

  
When the door opens and Raúl walks in, accompanied by Flori and Esteban, a bad feeling creeps up Javi’s spine. Raúl never comes in the company of the servants. Whatever it means, it can’t be anything good.  
  
Raúl looks around the room almost nostalgically. “It’s time to say our goodbyes, Javi,” he says casually, sitting down on the chair in the corner to rest his bad leg.  
  
It clicks in Javi’s brain almost immediately. He jumps out of the bed and runs to the door. He almost touches the handle when Esteban and Flori grab him from behind and drag him back to the bed, trashing and screaming.  
  
“I wish I had time to watch more of this,” Raúl says. “You amuse me. Fighting so hard for your miserable little life.”  
  
Javi turns his head to Raúl; it’s the only movement he can make with Esteban holding him down, his knee digging in Javi’s lower back, while Flori ties his hands behind his back.  
  
“Oh, don’t look at me like this, sweetheart,” Raúl smiles. “It makes me sad, too. I would keep you here with me if I could. But what has to be done, has to be done.”  
  
Esteban scrambles to his feet and helps Flori pull Javi up. Raúl looks at them gets up from the chair. “Hurry up,” he says. “We can’t know when my dear husband sends the dogs here.”  
  
“Can you manage on your own?” Esteban asks Flori like they are talking about a household chore. “I need to clean it here.”  
  
“Sure,” Flori says curtly and drags Javi to the door.  
  
“You know what to do,” Raúl tells him. “Get rid of him, don’t leave traces. And then I don’t want to hear about you anymore. You have enough money to start a new life, somewhere far away.”  
  
“Yes,” Flori nods. “I’ll do it.”  
  
Javi struggles to turn his head and look at him. “Flori, Flori, please...” he cries.  
  
“Shut up or I’ll cut your throat right here!” Flori barks.  
  
Raúl wants to note that he’d rather he do it elsewhere because they don’t have enough time to clean up, but in that moment, Javi hangs his head and slumps against Flori, only sobbing quietly.  
  


***

  
Pedro is waiting in the courtyard, preparing a carriage. It’s Raúl’s other carriage, the one he never uses. Most of the time it just stands at the back of the courtyard.  
  
“Nobody would recognize it, probably, but better get rid of it,” Pedro says while he’s tying Javi’s feet together.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Flori says. “I’ll set it on fire, it will burn like nothing.”  
  
“Great,” Pedro nods and pats Flori on the back. “I’ll go help Esteban. Good luck, man.”  
  
“Thanks,” Flori smiles. “Take care.”  
  
Pedro runs across the yard and disappears in the house. Flori grips the handle of the door. Javi gives him a pleading look. “Flori, please...” he whispers. “Promise me... promise it won’t hurt.”  
  
Flori’s face is unreadable as always, but something flashes in his eyes, and for Javi it’s reassuring enough. “Yes,” he says in a low voice. “I promise.”


	12. Eleven

Diego Simeone plops down on the armchair in Fernando's and Sergio’s living room and sighs. “So they checked González’ bank and his house,” he says.  
  
“What did they find?” Fernando whispers.  
  
“That’s the thing,” Simeone says. “They found nothing. The accounting books were in perfect order. If Raúl gets rich through his bank, it seems that it’s just because he has rich clients who invest a lot. As for his house, the guards searched it through. They found nothing suspicious.”  
  
“What about the locked room?” Fernando asks and Sergio shivers next to him.  
  
“It was empty.”  
  
“Empty?”  
  
“Did you expect anything else?” Simeone smiles bitterly.  
  
Fernando didn’t. He hoped they would find someone, because it would at least mean that they saved the person. What this meant was much worse, and he isn’t sure that he can bear it. He wants to believe that maybe there was no one after Sergio, but he remembers Raúl’s words well, and he knows that Raúl wouldn’t lie to him. Not about that.  
  
“So what happens now?” Fernando asks.  
  
“Raúl will try to sue us. And that’s what we want.”  
  
“That’s what we want?” Fernando raises his brows.  
  
“Yes. It’s the only way we can get Raúl in front of the judge again. And then... we’ll turn the tables.”  
  


***

  
Fernando stands in front of the mirror, checking his appearance for the last time. He is quite sure that the judge will look at him no better if he dresses impeccably, but he has to at least try.  
  
Then he turns around when he hears Sergio’s steps behind him, and gasps.  
  
Sergio is dressed in the best clothes he has, a suit handed down to him by Fernando's brother when they were still living in Madrid. “I’ll go with you,” he says.  
  
“Sergio...” Fernando starts.  
  
“I’ll go,” Sergio repeats. “This time, I’ll go.”  
  
“You don’t have to,” Fernando whispers. “You don’t have to see him.”  
  
“But I want to go,” Sergio says. “We let him win last time, we can’t let him win now.”  
  
“Maybe he will, anyway.”  
  
“Then at least, when he says all those lies, he’ll have to look at me while saying them.”  
  
Fernando makes a step and then he pulls Sergio to him and kisses him.  
  
“I love you,” he whispers.  
  


***

  
Raúl looks around and laughs to himself. Fernando's ways of fighting him have always been rather pathetic, but this takes it to another level. He wants to defend himself with the help of people who don’t interest anyone. It must have been his lawyer’s idea, because as far as Raúl remembers, Fernando's had enough self-criticism to admit he was a nobody without Raúl.  
  
They called up even Álvaro, even that whore, Asier, is there, playing with the frayed hem of his grey sweater, looking nervous. The judge decides to start with him, probably because his presence unnerves him the most.  
  
“Well, tell us about you and Mr. González,” he says.  
  
“I don’t really know what you want to hear,” Asier says and scratches his head. “He was just a customer.”  
  
“So let me make things clear,” the judge says and flips through some documents. “According to this accusation presented to me by Mr. Simeone, Mr. González tied you up, choked you with a belt, poured hot wax over your body, then had an intercourse with you while beating you with the said belt. Is that correct?”  
  
Asier doesn’t even blink. “Yes.”  
  
“And you agreed to it?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You got paid?”  
  
“Yes, I did.”  
  
The judge gives Simeone an annoyed look. “So why are we even discussing this?” he asks. “You can go, Mr. Illarramendi.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” Asier says and rushes to the door.  
  
“Your Honor,” the judge corrects him half-heartedly.  
  
Fernando and Sergio watch Asier pass Raúl like he’s just another person in the room, looking at him indifferently, and Fernando wonders if finally someone won the war against Raúl, because this boy looks like he will forget him as soon as he walks out of the courtroom, something that they will never achieve in their lives.  
  
“Mr. Morata, if you please.”  
  
The young man sitting next to Álvaro gives him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Álvaro tries his best to look self-confident, but the judge manages to shatter his mask with his first sentence.  
  
“According to Mr. Simeone, Mr. González and you had an... incident. Could you tell us about it?”  
  
Álvaro takes a deep breath, his eyes shifting to Raúl who looks as calm and composed as ever. “I told him I was getting married, and we talked and then Mr. González said that... he could... teach me,” Álvaro mumbles.  
  
“Teach you what?”  
  
Álvaro’s face turns bright red. “About... about sex.”  
  
The judge is unimpressed. “I see. What happened next?”  
  
“He tried to kiss me. I... I didn’t want to. I hit him and ran away.”  
  
Fernando can hear Sergio gasp next to him. He is probably wondering how Álvaro is still alive. Fernando is wondering if bowing to this boy would look too awkward.  
  
“Did you tell anyone about it?” the judge asks.  
  
“N-no. Yes, I told Nacho, but...”  
  
“I meant if you reported Mr. González,” the judge interrupts him.  
  
“No. No, of course not. It was just a misunderstanding,” Álvaro blurts out. “Mr. González was drunk, and he apologized, and I accepted the apology.”  
  
“All right,” the judge says. “If there were no more incidents you could tell us about...”  
  
Álvaro shakes his head. The judge dismisses him and crosses his arms. “Mr. Simeone, I am appalled by your lack of professionalism.”  
  
“What I want to prove, your Honor, is that Mr. González is by no means the man he claims to be. My client didn’t start this all to dishonor him. He even offered him to keep silent about the past, if Mr. González agreed to the divorce.”  
  
On the other side of the room, Florentino Pérez stands up. “I see. And when he didn’t agree, your client started spreading false, disgusting rumors about Mr. González!” he barks.  
  
“All of this is true, and more!” Simeone shouts.  
  
“Gentlemen!” the judge roars and bangs the hammer in his desk blindly. “Stop this immediately! Mr. Simeone, if you have nothing else to say...”  
  
“I have a lot to say,” Simeone says while Pérez sits down again, whispering something in Raúl’s ear. “About the boy he held in his house, locked in the secret room, the boy he abused and raped for months.”  
  
“That case is closed, Mr. Simeone,” the judge says, in a softer tone of voice.  
  
“But we are not talking about Sergio Ramos García now, Your Honor,” Simeone says calmly. “We are talking about Javier Martínez Aginaga. A boy who went through the same ordeal as Mr. Ramos, except that this time, Mr. González ordered this boy to be murdered.”  
  
Raúl shifts in his seat. The judge flips through the papers again, but then looks at Simeone again, obviously confused.  
  
“So who is it we are talking about?” he asks.  
  
“With your permission, Your Honor,” Simeone says and walks to the door.  
  
The judge, as well as the rest of the people in the room, is straining his neck to see what is going on. Then Simeone comes back, with a dark haired boy who is looking around with round, frightened eyes.  
  
Fernando can see Raúl grit his teeth, but it’s just a subtlety he recognizes. The judge isn’t even looking at Raúl now. “So you are... he is...”  
  
“I don’t know, who he is, Your Honor,” Raúl interrupts his stuttering. “I’ve never seen this boy in my life. And if Mr. Simeone thinks he can just pick someone up on the street and say that I abused the person or order the person’s murder... How come he is not dead, if I ordered his murder, by the way?”  
  
And then the door opens again and Flori walks in. Only this time, he’s wearing a suit and his hair is shorter and carefully combed.  
  
“Because I didn’t kill him,” he says.  
  
This time Raúl falls out of his role. He gets up, looking at Flori like he’s just seen a ghost. “Who... who are you?” he asks in a trembling voice.  
  
“Mr. Llorente is a private detective I hired after Mr. Torres mentioned that you had a rather disturbing remark when you met him in Fuenlabrada,” Simeone says. “You have to admit that he is a good actor as well, if he fooled someone as mistrustful as you.”  
  
That’s when Raúl loses it completely. “You son of a...” he yells, trying to get to Flori, while his lawyer is trying to hold him back.  
  
Javi cowers instinctively and Flori makes a step to shield him from Raúl. The judge bangs the hammer in the table so hard that it almost breaks. “Order! Order!” he shouts.  
  
It takes four guards to restore order in the room. They make Raúl sit back in his place and usher Flori and Javi to the other side.  
  
“And now...” the judge says and wipes his forehead. “I’d like to finally hear the whole story.”  



	13. Twelve

Fernando takes Sergio’s hand while the guards lead Raúl out of the room. Raúl looks at them and smiles derisively, and Fernando feels Sergio’s hand tremble in his.  
  
“It’s fine, he can’t hurt you anymore,” Fernando whispers, trying to return Raúl’s glare without blinking.  
  
“I think now the court will grant you the divorce even without Raúl’s agreement now,” Simeone says. “I’ll see to that.”  
  
“Thank you,” Fernando says. “The sooner we can forget about him, the better.”  
  
Álvaro passes them by, his eyes still borderline scared and shocked. He looks at them like he wants to say something, but then just lowers his head and walks out of the room.  
  
“I expected a lot of things when you asked me to do this,” Flori says. “But what I saw in that house exceeded my expectations.”  
  
“I had hard time believing Mr. Torres and Mr. Ramos as well,” Simeone sighs. “But one encounter with that monster was enough. You look in his eyes and know it’s all true, I don’t get how the others never saw it.”  
  
“Maybe they didn’t want to see it,” Fernando says quietly. “I didn’t, back then. I even tried to make up reasons for it not to be true. I _loved_ him, for Christ’s sake!”  
  
“I have to say that it was the hardest case I’ve ever had,” Flori says. “I was terribly conflicted all the time. I wanted to take the boy out of there the first day. And maybe I should have.”  
  
“You wouldn’t really help him like that,” Sergio whispers. “I got out, but with Raúl still somewhere out there, I was nothing more than a prisoner of my own fear.”  
  
“Yes, maybe,” Flori nods. “I was afraid he wouldn’t make it, but he’s stronger than he looks, and maybe than he himself thinks he is.”  
  
“What will happen to him now?” Fernando asks. “Does he have anywhere to go?”  
  
“I have a house in the mountains, we’ve spent the last few weeks there and I think a couple more will do him good,” Flori smiles. “Then we’ll see.”  
  
“Thank you once again,” Fernando says. “To both of you. For everything.”  
  
“Oh well, the majority was your work,” Simeone smiles. “I wouldn’t be able to do anything without your help.”  
  
“Let’s just hope that this time he gets what he deserves,” Fernando sighs.  
  
“Most certainly he will. This time he can’t blame it on the servants,” Flori frowns. “Although there’s a lot to blame on them. Raúl must have a special talent on sniffing the most abominable people ever born. Actually, that he wanted me to work for him really worries me, even if it was for the good.”  
  
“It only proves that you have an amazing acting talent,” Simeone clips him on the shoulder and looks back to the door. “Well, I should go and see the judge. They also need to issue a warrant on that Pedro and Esteban, possibly also that cook if it proves that he knew about it,” he says and turns back to Fernando. “I’ll see you soon.”  
  


* * *

  
The garden around Flori’s house is a true miracle. It blooms in all colors, the trees offer a pleasant shade and there are plant-beds with all kinds of vegetables behind the house. Flori spends his free time tending to the flowers, and Javi often comes out to watch him. Actually, he spends as much time outside as possible. If he could, he would even sleep under the starry sky.  
  
“Are you sure that you’re a detective and not an actual gardener?” he asks when Flori lovingly covers another young pansy plant with dirt.  
  
“Even detectives can have hobbies, can’t they?” Flori smiles. “You know, I meet so many bad people that flowers give me hope. They are pure, they won’t hurt you.”  
  
“Your flower gave me hope as well,” Javi whispers. “I was ready to give up. But the peony gave me hope, and I knew that I wanted to smell it once more, that I wanted to feel the sun on my skin and breathe fresh air.”  
  
Flori wipes the dirt off his hands and looks at him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For the way I acted around you. I had to.”  
  
“I know,” Javi smiles. “And don’t be sorry. I think I never really believed you anyway.”  
  
“You didn’t believe me?”  
  
“I didn’t believe you meant it. That you were bad, you know. There was a difference between them and you. They obviously enjoyed it. You didn’t. And I kept believing that maybe... you’d be the one that would save me.”  
  
Flori leans against the trunk of an apple tree. “But did I save you?” he asks quietly.  
  
“I’m like these flowers,” Javi says, reaching out to touch Flori's hand. “They’ll wither in the shadows, but if you give them enough sun, they'll heal. And I’m healing.”  
  


* * *

  
When the carriage Simeone hired to go to Fuenlabrada stops in front of Fernando's house, the sight that greets him is somewhat more cheerful than the one he remembers from the last time. At least the gate is not locked and the house doesn’t look like an impregnable fort. When he rings the bell, Fernando comes to open almost immediately, without checking who it is through the peephole.  
  
“I see the level of security in this house is considerably lower,” Simeone grins.  
  
Fernando smiles. As does Sergio, who is standing in the kitchen door.  
  
Simeone walks in and hands Fernando a file. “You are free at last,” he smiles.  
  
Fernando looks at the papers and sighs with relief. Nothing attaches him to Raúl anymore. He can forget him now. Or at least try to forget.  
  
“What about Raúl?” Sergio asks.  
  
“He’s trying to play it on mental illness, I think,” Simeone says. “But that’s all the same, the only difference might be between where he actually ends up. A prison or a sanatorium. He’d probably have more comfort in the latter, if he can afford it. Which, with his bank losing clients, may not be the case.”  
  
“Is he losing clients?” Fernando raises his brows.  
  
“Why, of course!” Simeone chuckles. “Nobody would want their name associated with him now. He’s also losing employees. A rival bank managed to headhunt that boy, Raúl’s accountant. He’s apparently a mastermind, since he managed to cover Raúl’s dirty deals, which we both know were there. I’d want him to work for me as well, if I had things to hide.”  
  
“I need one more thing from you,” Fernando says and looks at him.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Find Jesús and Silva, and let them know. I think they deserve to finally sleep soundly as well.”  
  
“I’ll try,” Simeone says. “Everyone of you deserves it.”  
  
“And that other boy?” Sergio asks.  
  
“I think he is well. I’m a little bit worried that Mr. Llorente will leave his detective career to become a florist or something, because they both spend the days with their hands in the dirt, but otherwise, they are fine.”  
  
“Same as Fernando,” Sergio grins. “He bought hens. He says that it’s to keep me company, but I know that he secretly wants to start selling eggs.”  
  
Simeone laughs and turns to leave. “Shall I inform you on the outcome of Raúl’s case?” he asks.  
  
“Only if they decide to let him out again. Then warn us,” Fernando says. “Otherwise, I don’t care what happens to him.”  
  
“Then I shall hope we will not meet for some time,” Simeone smiles. “At least not because of business.”  
  


* * *

  
“It’s my mother’s birthday next week,” Fernando says when they are going to bed. “She’s invited us to Madrid.”  
  
Sergio lifts his head. “When are we leaving?” he asks.  
  
Fernando laughs in surprise. “So you’re not afraid of leaving this house anymore?”  
  
“I’m afraid to leave the hens here,” Sergio smiles. “Otherwise, I have nothing to fear, have I?”  
  


* * *

  
The carriage rides through the woods and then takes the up the hills. They both know this land, these hills, this road.  
  
The village appears on the horizon, and then the land offers them the familiar sight of Raúl’s mansion.  
  
This time, the windows are dark and lifeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write the ending for a long time as I have a new fic planned that will probably turn into a monster, but the Universe conspired against me. Thank you for your patience!


End file.
